


a time to kill (and a time to heal)

by kiira



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/F, like vague description of violence, not much at all, really just mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 13:17:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1649990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiira/pseuds/kiira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You knew you wouldn't be able to save everyone but for some reason you believed with the last shred of your innocence that you could.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a time to kill (and a time to heal)

You knew you wouldn't be able to save everyone. Buffy told you, Willow told you, Giles told you, fuck even Dawn told you and she's still a kid.

You knew you wouldn't be able to save everyone but for some reason you believed with the last shred of your innocence that you could.

After you saved the girl from Detroit, and the twins from Seoul, you believed even more. They were all broken, and you managed to put them back together piece by piece by piece by piece.

Maybe that was what you could do. Fix people.

(It was a nice thought. After all, you destroyed more than you care to think about.)

But she was different. She could barely speak and when she did it was a strange mixture of Chinese and Romanian, English and something that sounded impossibly old. She wouldn't look at you, and when Andrew whispered her story to you so that the young hopeful slayers wouldn't hear, you almost threw up.

Your childhood was fucked up enough, but compared to hers, it was like a picnic. Maybe a neglectful, abusive picnic, but a picnic all the same.

You spend too much time with her, and Buffy gives you worried looks at the dinner table and you feel seventeen because you haven't seen that specific brand of glances since you went off the deep end.

Xander ( _Xander_ ) pulls you aside one evening and tells you that you can't spend so much time with her, that you have to let Dana go. You want to tell him that you can't, you can't see her crash because you see too much of yourself in her madness.

But you don't say anything. You just give him a tight smile and walk back into Dana's room.

You're not even there when it happened. You're with Willow, on some ridiculous mission that you think they made up to get you out of the house, something about a possessed chihuahua .

But as soon as you walk in the front door, you know. Buffy is standing there, blood on her hands, her arms, her dress and her eyes are full of apology.

You don't realize it, but your hand is on your knife and your knife is against Buffy's throat and Willow is screaming, screaming, screaming. Buffy's staring at you, her mouth partially open and she tries to whisper something, maybe _I'm sorry_ , maybe _I had to_ , but it doesn't matter because you've snapped. And you know in some distant way that five years earlier you would have sliced into Buffy, but now you just collapse, knife clattering to the floor.

Someone's hands are on your back, stroking your hair, and when you press your face into her shoulder, she smells like blood. Buffy reaches blindly behind you, silently handing your knife to Willow, all while whispering in your ear, something about going upstairs, something about not wanting you to see anything else.

You want to bite, want to tell her that you've seen much worse, but the words can't come, so you just nod and trail behind her up to her room.

She's scrubbed the blood from her own hands and arms, and by the time she comes out from her bathroom, she's changed out of her blood-stained dress. You're sitting on her bed, not sure if you're going to leave or cry or maybe throw up.

She sits behind you and braids your hair back easily, like she's done this for Dawn a thousand times, and she can't see your face so you start to cry again.

It's only the third time you've cried since you were Called, and you hate yourself for it.

When you wake up, you're still in her bed, and she's curled around you. She feels you move and mutters for you to go back to sleep, that it's too early to be awake.

She still smells faintly of blood, so you can't smile, but you twist your fingers with hers and everything feels a little more solid, like you've stepped away from the edge of a building.

You feel safe.


End file.
